Aging Well
by Decidedly Average
Summary: The Elintézetlen follow-on one shots, lots of love and happiness! The ins and outs of the Cunningham family, in which Harry and Nikki find themselves outnumbered...
1. Overload

You feel like you are going to die.

The pain is immeasurable to anything else you have ever felt in your entire life.

You've been a mother now for 3 years, slightly more. And yet you've never done this before. And you're terrified.

Because you _can't_ do it.

On writing out your birthing plan, once, twice, and then typing it out, just for good measure, you had decided, much to Harry's confusion, not to have pain relief. For the majority of Kit's formative years you have felt like a fraud. You are not worthy to be called his Mother, because you didn't _do it right_.

You didn't have the chance to.

To some people, you know it must seem stupid, but you felt that it was something you had to experience, you owe it to _her..._

...your second child.

It had not been the easiest of pregnancies, but you had been warned of that. When you miscarried Kit, your uterine wall was damaged. Carrying this baby to full term wouldn't just be uncomfortable.

It would be life threatening.

But you had done it. Harry had been there every step of the way, despite how scared he was, and had made sure you took it easy, sometimes fighting you to persuade you to take on more paperwork, spend more time at home and to let him look after Kit.

What everyone had failed to warn you, was that the birth would be equally as horrific as the last 9 months.

It's terrible to think it, but despite your pride at carrying this baby for nine months, part of you wishes you hadn't, because you just _can't _cope with this pain.

Another one comes and you press your lips together, wincing, willing yourself not to push and attempting to breathe yourself through. Harry notices your erratic breathing start up again and rubs a hand over your back, telling you in a tone as light-hearted as he can muster, not to panic.

He just doesn't get it.

It feels like a boulder in your insides, pushing down, down so hard into your bottom you feel like it might tear you apart. The skin of your stomach is stretched so tightly, you fear you might rip. It's a stinging, burning and aching pain all at once.

"_Alright, Nikki, that's you at ten. You're almost there!"_

There is a minor celebration in the delivery suite though you barely register. You are dimly aware of someone positioning your legs, bending your knees, and then Harry's hand is on your forehead, cool and soothing against the burning heat of your skin.

You have been horrible to him for the past 6 hours, really, and all he's done is help you as best he can. But now you need him, you look at him through wide, fearful eyes, breathlessness rendering you unable to speak, and so you silently question him.

He sees the fear in your eyes as another wave of pain hurtles to the fore and you writhe, your back leaving the bed as you arch. He looks straight at you and as you cling to him as if he were your saviour he holds your shoulders and restores your calm. You hear his voice, clear above everything else.

"_Okay, this is it. Don't be afraid of the pain because it's not going to be for much longer. Don't panic, just listen to your body, and you'll know what to do. You are built to do this."_

You nod vigorously, and don't let go of the firm grip on his hand as he leans over and kisses your hair, snaking an arm round your shoulders to hold you.

"_You're being so brave. You've barely made any noise at all! I'm so proud of you!"_

Deep breath in, deep breath out, you listen. Waiting. For some_thing_ to tell you what to do. But it is calm again, though there is now a permanent ache in your bones which hasn't shifted. A relative hiatus seems to have washed over you and the rest of the room. You breathe in the silence.

Just as you are about to ask what to do if you _can't hear _your body. The pain and the pressure build again.

You know exactly what to do.

As it reaches its optimum you squeeze Harry's hand as tightly as you can, push your chin down to your chest to stop you from screaming, close your eyes tightly and push as hard as you can. It's like being in a horror movie. You're in a horrific amount of pain and the only way to get rid of it is to intensify it.

It just makes the pain worse and seems to make no difference, but you don't stop, not for one second when you hear Harry counting quietly in your ear, egging you on.

"_Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen."_

The need to push leaves you and you gasp for air, throwing your head back against his shoulder, exhausted and shaking.

"_That was fantastic, Nikki! And again!"_

You've barely had a chance to recover, when it happens again, and you give it everything you possibly can, before giving up, breathless. Your eyes meet Harry's as you lean your head back.

"_Nothing's happening!"_

"_It will, darling, it will I promise."_

"_I can't do it! I can't!"_

"_You're panicking. Stop it, now. You have a medical degree for god's sake."_

At first you are taken aback by the sudden sternness in his voice and his abrupt change in attitude frightens and panics you further. He sounds angry, his voice low and fierce and it scares you. Until you remember. You remember what you asked of him. You had told him under no circumstances were you to have pain relief and that if you started to lose it, he was to be tough on you. Perhaps you know yourself better than you thought you did. You can see it now, now that your vision is less blurred; the twinkle in his eye that tells you he's doing what he can for you, what you asked him to do, he believes in you. He knows you can do this.

You don't believe him. But you trust him, so you restart the cycle and push down with all the power you possess and finally, eventually, something shifts.

The pain intensifies and you give a small cry, Harry's grip around you tightens.

"_Okay, now Nikki, the baby's head is about to crown now this is going to feel a bit stingy, but I don't want you to shy away from the pain okay? I need you to listen to me very carefully and do exactly what I say and I reckon you'll have your little girl in about 4 minutes."_

The midwife gives you an encouraging smile and with no energy to do anything else, you look to Harry. He looks excited and nods his encouragement.

"_The next time you feel a contraction, I want you to push as hard as you can until I tell you to stop okay, and then that's all there is to it!"_

She makes it sound so easy, if you had the breath you would ask her if she wanted to swap places.

See if that would be _'all there is to it' _then.

This time when the pain comes it burns and stings so intensely you can barely think, you bare down, as you did before, and the pain gets ten times worse.

You're a doctor, a pathologist at that; you study the female body on a daily, almost hourly, basis. You know the lengths to which it can be tested. You know the extreme conditions it can survive, the magic it can create.

But if you didn't know any better, you would say this was an impossible task. There is no way you can push this baby out of you.

Despite the extremely vulnerable position you are currently in, you don't want to appear weak, and so you keep going. Unable to hold it inside you any longer, you release an ear splitting, primal shriek. Harry, who has never seen you in such a state before seems to have broken into a cold sweat. He has stepped back from you, looking pale and clammy, and through bleary eyes, you can see that the student midwife has a comforting hand on his shoulder as he looks on in horror.

You never considered the affect childbirth would have on your husband, and in the split second between one contraction and the next you feel for all the new fathers who will have to go through the very same. Much is done to prepare a woman for the birth of a child, they are even shown how to breathe, but little is said to their spouses. No one warns them how their partner will suddenly run cowering back to their most base instincts, and how there will be absolutely nothing they can do to make it better. You know how he hates to see you hurting. But this time it's different. This time it's natural, it's meant to hurt, by rights he should _want _you to hurt. It must be conflicting, you think and in a moment of pain-induced hysteria, you find yourself actually feeling sorry for him. This is his first time at this sort of thing too.

You feel something give and the midwife tells you to stop and again you gasp for air, your head falling to the side as you fight to stay conscious.

She was right, when it mattered, you did know exactly what to do, and you continue to breathe, in some state of shock, pushing gently when you feel the urge and suddenly, finally the pain is completely gone.

The atmosphere in the room completely changes then. Suddenly, there is a baby, looking just as dazed and confused as you feel. The relief that this is the end of the pain, the achievement at having done it yourself, the euphoria of being a new mum again, the exhaustion, all hit you at once and you burst into floods of tears. The overload of emotions too much to handle after a long, tiring day.

* * *

You worry slightly about how he'll react, as you walk with your son, hand in hand down the hospital corridor, listening to him chatting away so fast he is barely making sense.

You remind yourself of Nikki's wish to visit neonatal before you all go home tomorrow, with Kit so the nurses can see how much he's growing up.

You reach the door and find yourself feeling inexplicably nervous.

"_Are we ready?"_ A question more to yourself than your son.

You look down to the little boy at your side, who nods enthusiastically.

"_Now before we go in, I want you to understand that you'll always be our special boy, okay?"_

You often forget his amazing intelligence for a three year old, and this was one of these moments. With a wistful smile that could only have been inherited from his mother he gives you a flawless answer.

"_I knowed that."_

Not wasting any more time you open the door and guide him in by the hand, squeezing perhaps slightly more than necessary.

Nikki is sitting up in the hospital bed holding the sleeping baby, in a pink fluffy dressing gown surrounded by balloons and cards. She has obviously had a few visits since you left earlier. You were extremely protective of her yesterday. Both of them. _Your girls_. Your Mother wanted to come up with her grandson immediately, but you had banned all visitors, perhaps harsh, but she needed to sleep. They both did. Now with no make-up and tousled, blonde hair about her face, she looks well-rested, surprisingly refreshed for a new mother and never has she looked more beautiful. Her accomplishment has left her with a glowing happiness that radiates from every pore, making her seem to shine in the afternoon sunlight.

You lift your son onto the bed and he gently climbs up to his Mother and sits by her side, gingerly pulling the blanket away from his little sister's eyes.

"_Kit, this is Freya."_

"_She's very small."_

He looks at her with a furrowed brow for a moment or two, touching and examining each of her hands in turn, before stroking and softly blowing on the dusting of blonde hair on her head.

You share a look of anticipation with Nikki. You would compare the feeling to those dancers on that BBC One show Nikki likes, while they are waiting for their score from the judges. Only it's not your dancing that is being judged;

It's your _DNA_.

Finally, he seems satisfied and you both nervously look to him, awaiting the verdict. He rocks back on his knees and gives a concluding sigh.

"_Can I still have a goldfish if we keep this?"_

He seems insulted, taken aback when you both burst into fits of laughter.

* * *

**Why, oh why, oh why couldn't the writers have just given us a handful of babies?**

**Then, maybe I wouldn't have had to do this.**

**Oh well. I've never given birth, so I don't know if this is accurate, still, I'd love to know what you think of this!**

**Love, as always xxx**


	2. Repeat

**5.30am – **Oliver wets the bed. Get up (if a little reluctantly), console him, change pyjamas, change bed, discard old sheets into the wash basket. Another job for the morning.

**7.00am – **Second wakeup call of the day. This time, the alarm. Sit up before switching it off, just to ensure _awake-ness_. Wake Harry. Leave the kids for a little while. Busy yourself by setting out the cereal, put kettle on, put some toast in.

**7.30am – **Start by waking Kit, wake them one by one, the gentler the better, makes them less grumpy. Wake Harry attempt number two. Set out neatly ironed school clothes for Kit and Freya.

**7.45am – **Wake Harry attempt number three. Violently. He gets up and heads for the shower. Make the bed.

**8.00am –** Get breakfast going and sort out packed lunches. Kit; ham salad with mayonnaise, no butter, Freya, just ham…with butter. Oliver? Chocolate spread (too tired not to indulge him), Harry, ham salad, no mayo…but with butter. Usually the racket starts about now.

"_Mum, where's that toy aeroplane?"_

"_Nik, have you seen my red tie?"_

"_Mama, can I take my bed to nursery?"_

"_Mum, I've changed my mind…can I have butter today?"_

**8.20am – **Demand Freya washes her face, chase kids upstairs and remind them to brush their teeth and get dressed. Harry's tie is in the bread bin (where else?). Take it out and put it on him as neatly as possible.

**8.30am – **Yell at the kids to get dressed as they seem to be having some sort of tea party on the landing. Freya points out you are still in your dressing gown. Run off and throw your hair into a bun, slip on a tracksuit. Silent reminder to yourself that it is the school run _not_ a fashion show. It makes you feel better. Another silent reminder that the 'school run Mothers' are not quite as forgiving.

**8.45am – **Going to be late. Again. Harry has vanished. Quietly assume he has left for work. Repeatedly tell the gang to put their damn shoes on. Kick yourself upon the realisation of specifying _school _shoes. Impatiently wrench your platforms from Freya and repeat said order. Zip up jackets, hand out p.e. bags, lunchboxes, reading folders and bundle everyone into the car. Diffuse any fatigue infused arguments before setting off.

**8.59am – **Made it, just. Empty the car and ensure everyone goes to the right class. Take Oliver by the hand into nursery and after a long and painful goodbye, promise him to be back at 12.

**9.15am – **Back to the house. Forget house keys. Back to the car to retrieve them. Get in and quickly check landline. Missed call from Harry;

"_Hey…ummm…just me…uh…I've got a scene later on and I've forgotten my waterproof, if you get this can you bring it in when you come in, please? Ok, sweetheart, love you, bye."_

Sort hair and make-up and breakneck speed and decide on what to wear. Settle on a grey skirt and matching blazer from monsoon (sale) with a pale blue blouse. Fail to realise there is a half sooked chuppa chup stuck to the back of your blazer. Rush out.

**9.45am – **Bloody horrendous traffic.

**10.30am – **Fifteen minutes late, throw Harry's jacket into the office and arrive at your meeting, prepared, if not a little flustered.

**10.45am – **Turn around to demonstrate aspect of facial reconstruction on the smart board. Professor _Charles somebody_ points out the lollipop. Much embarrassment ensues…

**11.30am – **End of meeting. Leo offers you a coffee. No time, unfortunately.

**12 noon – **Pick up Oliver. Spend fifteen minutes longer than usual with concerned nursery teacher explaining 'Oliver's tale of the day'. Today apparently, Harry invented the ipad. Splendid.

**12.30 – 1.30pm – **Weekly shop. Oliver gets bored and decides to find out what would happen if he shook a carton of milk as hard as he can.

**2.00pm – **Back to the house. Throw yours and Oliver's milk sodden clothes into the bath to deal with later. While Oliver multi-tasks, sometimes watching TV, sometimes chatting about his morning, you take care of everything else. Washing, cleaning, bedrooms, start cooking dinner in the oven…

**3.10pm – **Bundle Oliver back into the car to collect the other ones. Run the clubs over in your head. Swimming? Thursday. Violin? Monday. Ballet? Wednesday. Give a sigh of relief in realising its Tuesday.

**3.30pm – **Back to the house. Partake in nightly argument about chocolate before dinner. Break up fights, wipe away tired tears and eventually send Freya to the naughty step for repeatedly asking to go to Sophie's across the road after you said no the first 6 times. Try to muster the strength for yet more discipline when Kit emerges from the kitchen, abandoning his homework…before he tells you he can smell burning.

**4.30pm – **Call Harry… Ask him to pick up chips on the way home.

**7-9.30pm – **A long drawn out process of who gets in the bath first, what story to read, who's pyjamas are who's, not to mention all the excuses…

"_I'm not tired!"_

"_That was too short a story!"_

"_I'm thirsty!"_

"_I should go to bed later than Oliver he's only three!"_

**9.45pm – **Harry takes over, and as he moves from room to room, the havoc and chaos seems to slowly fade away. _They always do what he bloody tells them._

Exhausted, you collapse on the bed, grateful for a rare and precious moment alone, in the peace and quiet, when you don't need to answer to anyone. You close your eyes and just allow yourself to move from machine back to human again.

You start slightly, halfway between consciousness and sleep, when Harry leans down on the bed behind you. On realising it's just him, you close your eyes again and relax…

…until you feel his lips on your neck. His chest up against your back. _His hands under your top._

Perhaps it's not really the gesture itself that triggers it. So many worse things have happened today; Freya's sudden change in sandwich choice, making a fool of yourself in front of some 'prunes' at a meeting, Oliver's milk incident in Tesco, to name a few, but for some reason, this is the final straw. Perhaps it's the sudden realisation that no one ever notices how much you do to keep this family ticking over. Perhaps it's the undeniable fact that you have simply become an appliance to the Cunningham family, satisfying their needs left, right and centre. Perhaps it's the soul-destroying truth that if you wrote out your whole day on a piece of paper and wrote _repeat_ underneath it, that would pretty much be the story of your life. From now, until the end of time…

Repeat.

_Repeat._

_REPEAT._

Just like that. You've snapped.

"_NO!" _

You pull yourself away and stand up facing him, yelling in his face with strength you really shouldn't possess when you're this tired. You must look like some kind of wild animal who has just been accidentally released from a rare breeds zoo. Your hair is fizzy and sticking up at odd angles, your foundation has rubbed off to reveal your stressed, _old_, skin underneath, mascara has smudged, creating little shadows of black under your eyes. Scrap the _wild animal theory._

You look like one of the little boys from _Lord Of The Flies._

He just looks confused. He is looking at you as he might look at a very cute puppy, which succeeds in riling you further. He really has _no idea_.

"_What's the matter, Angel?"_

As you speak, no, _scream_ at him – finally losing the plot – his tender smile fades.

"_What's the matter? I'll tell you what's the fucking matter! I've been up since five this morning, looking after __**your **__children, cleaning __**your**__ house, keeping this family going and for this whole day, the only moment I had to myself was when I picked a fucking lollipop out of my hair!"_

Perhaps there will come a time when the pair of you would laugh at this, but right now you are furious. You're trying to hold back the tears although you know they're evident in your voice.

"_And then you swan in here like their bloody own personal superhero and expect me to be at your beck and call too, like some sodding live-in booty call!? Well, you know what? Food doesn't just magically appear on the table every night, and the kids don't take themselves to school, your shirts don't iron themselves and socks and y-fronts don't grow on shitting trees! They all fall out of my holly-jolly asshole! And I'm sick and tired of it Harry!"_

You're crying now and he's up in front of you pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly. You want to keep this fight going, you're spoiling for one, but you can't help but fall against him and cry all the frustration out instead.

"_I'm so sorry, darling, I should have realised."_

You know you're being ridiculous. Crying and shouting isn't going to make it all go away. You are the Mother of three and it is hard work but it's the life you chose, the life you _wanted_ and you wouldn't swap it for anything. Perhaps you need to grow a pair…

"_Let's just go to bed, yeah?"_

Later, he's still holding you close, running a hand up and down your upper arm. Still soothing.

"_I'll do the school run tomorrow. You have a lie in."_

"_Thanks."_

"_We'll go away. This weekend if you like?"_

"_Where to?"_

"_Anywhere you like. Just us, Leo can take Freya and Kit and Mum would take Oliver. We'll go away and chill out for a couple of days, yes?"_

"_Yes, please."_

Suddenly you feel a lot more enthusiastic about tomorrow and the rest of the week ahead. He always has had this ability to make everything better, even when he is the main source of the pain.

"_I don't think of you as a booty-call."_

"_Well, it just feels like it sometimes."_

"_Sorry, Nik. I forget sometimes how much work you do."_

"_Yeah, well."_

The house is finally in silence and you stop talking to take a moment to yourself, to just breathe, you close your eyes and remember when you were first married. To your dismay, you find that you can't remember very clearly at all. But it must have been like this every night; him, holding you like this, like you are the most precious thing in the world, the silence, intoxicating, lulling you to sleep. And before you succumb, he leaves you with a final promise which ignites the fire within you again and helps you drift off peacefully.

"_This weekend, darling."_

* * *

__**Soz.**

**Its been a while.**

**Life has been mad!**

**This is a bit further on, I was hoping to have a few more before this one but I just haven't had time to think them up! Maybe some day...**

**Hope you enjoy! I love reviews!**

**I've missed you guys! xx**


	3. Repeat Again

**Now, before anyone gets upset, this is lighthearted! I'm not going to break them up again so nobody panic (we've suffered enough at the hands of Tom Ward and his bloody free will :P).**

**Hope you enjoy! You know what to do if you do!**

**All the best the everyone!**

* * *

Oh dear.

Oh _dear._

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. It _was _a good idea at the time.

You had organised to have the weekend off work with Leo, asked Janet if she would mind taking Oliver – of course she didn't – phoned your Mum to take the other two and booked a two night stay for two at the nicest hotel you could find out of town.

Settled.

You. Nikki. Peace. Quiet.

It _would_ have been perfect.

If the two of you had only been a _bit_ more careful.

And it _had_ been brilliant. You had went out for dinner, slept in late, got drunk, participated in long, undisturbed sessions of passion and come home feeling completely refreshed.

You're not chauvinistic, or at least you didn't think you were, but you do remember marvelling at how unbelievably easy it was to please a woman. In a mere two days you had managed to bring her back from what had seemed to be a state of exhausted insanity. In 48 hours she transformed back to her old, witty, carefree, contented self and would remain in that state – with you in her good books – for months to come with little more than the odd grumble…

Until she started getting stomach cramps. Feeling sick. Bad tempers. At first, you had thought it was simply time for another weekend away, until she told you calmly not to look too much into it. It would pass. Eventually.

It was one night a few weeks later, as you lay facing the ceiling, side by side in the dark that she brought the topic up again. Looking back now, you wonder if she knew already. She had been unusually quiet that night, a Friday, if you remember correctly. Film night with the kids. She had seemed very distant. You remember her voice, the only contact you had with her in the darkness of your bedroom, quiet, shaky, unsure, as if she was standing on the edge of something. She took your hand. As if inviting you to leap with her. Into what, you hadn't been sure. Not yet.

"_Are you awake?"_

"_Mmhmm."_

"_Harry, I think something's wrong."_

"_With what?"_

"_Me."_

You had squeezed her hand then, she had your full attention.

"_What d'you mean?"_

"_Something's different. I'm scared, Har."_

"_Hey, it's okay. If you're worried, I'll call Leo tomorrow, get us an hour or so off on Monday morning, we'll go to open surgery, yeah? You're probably working yourself too hard again."_

* * *

Oh dear.

It had been obvious, now that you think about it. You should be a complete veteran at this sort of thing by now.

But when you're not expecting it. You just don't make the connections.

"_Harry?" _She says as you sit in the doctor's waiting room for the results. _"Whatever happens next, whatever this is, I'm ready for it, I'll – I'll deal with it."_

"_It might be nothing."_

"_No…somethings…different."_

"_Mrs Cunningham?"_

She'd looked at you nervously as her name was called, a soft hand slipping into your own and together you had walked hand in hand into the office.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. One minute you were getting yourself comfortable at the other end of the desk, the next thing you know you are holding your distraught wife whilst trying to find the words to apologise to a shocked doctor, whilst battling your own embarrassment as, although all three of you are doctors, only one of you had come to this conclusion.

* * *

She sits at one end of the living room, you stand at the other.

The kids are in bed. The cat is outside.

She hasn't said a word to you since earlier, before the doctor's appointment.

You have a double measure of whisky in your hand – perhaps a sliver more than a double – to help you get through this conversation.

It's going to be a long night.

"_Come on, Nikki, you're acting like this is my fault!"_

"_Scientifically, it is…"_

"_Well it takes two to tango, honey."_

You wiggle your eyebrows at her. She's not amused. She simply glares at you, like she wants to tear your face off.

"_Why does everything have to be a joke with you?"_

"_What? You want me to act like I'm not pleased? Well I'm not going to Nikki, because I AM pleased. I'm over the damn moon!"_

It's only after you've become silent that you realise she's crying. You can't see her face, she has turned it in, to her chest, so her hair falls in a golden cascade over her head. Her voice is frail, a distant murmur as if she had somehow got lost under all those golden curls.

"_I didn't want another baby."_

It's a difficult situation all round. The two of you weren't very good at planning babies. So far only 1 one of the three you have was through coherent decision. You had always wanted to be a father, that much you're sure of. Especially to _her_ children. You relish each of them, getting to know them, finding out who they are, trying to guess what they will grow up to be.

"_I did."_

"_I know!"_

She stands up quickly and the tears have gone, she's angry now, or not angry, _frustrated_.

"…_And I know why! Because you're not the one that has only just started to settle back into work again. You've not just got over your body hang ups or had to find out who you are all over again. You're not the one who has to completely change lifestyle and wave goodbye to any form of social life! You're not the one who has to cope with the back pain and the stomach cramps and the night sweats and the throwing up…"_

"_So you regret it then, you regret them?"_

This seems to calm her and she sits down again. The whisky remains full in your hands, you place it on the table and walk towards her, gingerly sitting next to her so your legs are touching.

"_Of course I don't."_

"_Do you remember when we brought Freya home? Do you remember how it felt?"_

* * *

Kit was on your knee, fast asleep, the last few weeks having finally taken their toll. You were all just beginning to settle back down into yourselves again. He had been out of sorts for a while. You presume he assumed this little baby girl would be a novelty; one that mum and dad would get bored of and send back where she came from. After he realised she was here to stay, he played up a bit and only then, eventually settled again.

Nikki is holding Freya. It still amazes you how tiny she is. A tiny human. Your tiny human. Your responsibility. That thought scares you half to death but also catalyses a sudden rush within you that you can't explain.

You wonder if Nikki can feel it too, she's smiling widely enough. She's spoken before you get the chance to ask.

"_I think I could stay like this forever. Never need to go anywhere, or do anything else, just, be here. I don't think it can get much better than this."_

Enigmatic as ever, but you understand exactly what she means.

* * *

You can tell that the sparkle now in her eyes is not just through tears, you know she remembers.

"_Well, maybe it can get better."_

She looks at you, stunned.

"_You really think so?"_

"_Yeah. We'll share the childcare, too, if you like?"_

"_How?"_

"_You take say…6 weeks maternity, and then we'll both go part time and alternate!"_

"_What about money, Harry?"_

"_We'll manage somehow."_

She gives you a weak smile and for a moment the two of you just look at each other, into each other's eyes. It reminds you of when you first got together, you lost countless nights of rest just lying, facing her, _looking_. You know she doesn't think you're as cheesy as to remember such moments, and yet you still truly believe that you learned more about her in those hours of silence than any other time.

You're looking now. And you can see she's not convinced.

"_What do you want to do, Nikki?"_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_It's your body. You know, ultimately, I'm leaving this decision up to you…_

She looks a little bit lost when you stop looking, turn your back and leave the room.

…_Just know that I'll be behind you whichever conclusion you come to."_

And you had even convinced yourself. It's only when she slides into bed behind you, wraps her arms around your torso and whispers excitedly _"We're having a baby!" _ that you realise you would be quite happy to repeat the whole baby process over and over, perhaps forever.


	4. In Your Favour

**Hi there! Sorry, I'm a mess tonight. I tried to post the same chapter twice and then realised it was the wrong one. So this is the one I MEANT to post!**

* * *

"_Ok."_

It's Friday. It's meant to be film night. When you buy a pizza for tea and then the kids sit you and Harry down to watch some god awful pixar film and the two of you pretend to enjoy it.

So you'd had your pizza. You'd ordered one tonight, seeing as it was a _special_ occasion.

Or perhaps it was just comfort food for you and Harry in preparation of the extremely daunting task ahead of you…

It was Freya's turn to pick a film. Admittedly the week you dread the most. There's always an argument. Kit and Oliver never agree with their sister's choice in film and despite most often being on the side of all _three_ boys, you have to stick up for your daughter.

Perhaps this is your saving grace tonight.

As Freya jumped up from the table – you insist the pizza is eaten, like everything else, at the table._ It's bad enough that you're letting them eat garbage_ – but Harry stopped her.

"_No, no film just now darling."_

"_Why not?"_

"_We're going to have a chat first."_

They are only your children and yet you had felt your blood run cold. It had just seemed odd to you, that every member of the family would sit down and thoroughly discuss getting a new goldfish before acting on impulse, and yet, with this, there has never been any negotiation.

Perhaps you're just still not entirely knowledgeable of the whole 'family unit' concept, having never really been part of one yourself growing up.

So here you all sit, they are dotted about the living room floor on cushions, watching intently. After what seems like a lifetime of them scrutinising you, Harry finally comes down the small flight of wooden steps from the kitchen into the living area and sits beside you on the couch.

"_What the deuce is going on?"_

Oliver's new catchphrase. You have no idea where he got it from, but you're certain you shouldn't be encouraging it. Though it is extremely hard not to laugh, when he's frowning at you like that. Tonight you're grateful for his comic relief, however short lived.

You feel Harry's hand sliding round your shoulders and you feel like such a cliché you almost cringe.

"_Mummy and I have got a big surprise for you."_

"_WE'RE GOING TO DISNEYLAND!"_

Freya squeals out in excitement and you both flinch.

"_No, not quite."_

For a moment he turns to you. You have remained silent the entire time and left it to him to do the talking. He always seems to know exactly what to do and in the seconds where your eyes meet, you realise something you've never as much as contemplated before.

_He has no idea what he's doing._

Absolutely no clue.

For the entire time you have been parents, you have envied him. As you struggled and fumbled along the path of parenthood he seemed to stride along in front with no problems at all. Changing nappies, dishing out discipline, playing games, helping with homework with no problems at all, while you felt that you were googling parenting tips every five minutes.

Perhaps you should have checked the browsing history.

Then you may have discovered that he is just as lost as you are.

_He's never done it before either, after all._

You take his clammy hand and squeeze it gently, a silent thank you for hiding it well, for pretending, for always being the _stronger one_.

It seems to give him the courage he needs.

"_You're going to have a new brother or sister!"_

For a few excruciating seconds, there is nothing but awkwardness and anti-climactic silence. Then Oliver pipes up, disgruntled.

"_What the deuce do you mean?"_

Freya – on the other hand – looks quite enamoured.

"_Mummies having a baby!?"_

"_Yes. Isn't it exciting?"_

"_ANOTHER?"_

Kit pipes up from the other end of the room and you both turn to find him looking at you disapprovingly, as a weary parent might look at a couple of irresponsible teenagers who have no concept of contraception.

"_Well…yes!"_

"_We're going to have to get a bigger car. You do realise that?"_

Not for the first time, you decide that your eight year old is spending too much time with a certain cynical professor…

He simply shakes his head at you both and leaves the room after that. You both watch him leave before your attention is drawn simultaneously back into the body of the room.

"_Will I have to do anything?"_

You watch, amused, as Harry regards his youngest son with slight trepidation, slight confusion, and one eyebrow raised.

"_Eh, no, not really."_

"_All good then."_

Neither of you can do anything but watch as he rises too, stumbling slightly as he balances on tiny feet and gallops from the room, enigmatic as ever. Harry shakes his head. You're not sure you'll even understand what that boy is all about.

"_Can you make it a girl baby please?"_

You look back down into the deep brown eyes of your daughter, who is staring up at you in an almost hypnotising manner, crouching at your feet and gently caressing your cheesecloth clad stomach. She _is _your daughter and you _do_ love her, but at times like these she resembles something from one of those psychological horrors that her father refuses to watch with you.

"_We don't really get to choose, sweetheart."_

"_If it's another boy, I don't want it."_

She's gone before you get the chance to tell her that it's not really _anyone's _choice.

The two of you are left in silence and Harry gives a long, fraught sigh. For a moment still, the two of you remain speechless as if the only two soldiers left on a battleground, on which everyone else has suddenly fled.

Even the opponents.

Surely that means the war went in your favour?

"_Well I think that went pretty well don't you?"_

* * *

**Another bit of funny stupidity for y'all! There's a bit of a gap, between these and Elintézetlen I know! When I can, I want to do a bit more about Oliver (baby no.3) he seems a bit random at the moment! Bear with me!**

**Thank you all for the reviews, they really do make my day and I appreciate every single one of them!**


	5. The Gardening

**Hi Everyone! No idea where this one came from but I greatly enjoyed writing it! Hope you enjoy reading it! Thank you everyone again who is reading, and a wee review would be appreciated...I know you're all busy though!**

* * *

"_Daddy?"_

"_Mmm?"_

It was an involuntary response. You hadn't meant to reply. You had wanted to pretend you hadn't heard her and carry on with the drive to ballet in blissful ignorance.

Too late.

You know what's coming.

"_You know how Mummy is growing a baby in her tummy?"_

"_Yes…"_

"_How did it get there?"_

You visibly cringe. You knew it was only a matter of time. She had only just turned three when Oliver came on the scene, a bit too young to ask questions. She's almost six now. Kit had been easy. When you found out about Oliver, he had just turned five and Nikki had gone out and bought him a child-friendly book which she had read to him a little each night. A confrontation had never been necessary.

Not with Freya.

Freya was much more inquisitive, outgoing.

"_Ask your Mother."_

"_I did. She said you knew all about that kind of stuff."_

Shit.

You make a mental note to give your wife the cold shoulder if you ever make it home tonight.

Your mind races and an internal conflict emerges. Do you tell her the truth? Warts and all? Or do you make up some story about the 'Baby fairy'. Or, perhaps the most appealing option, do you drive off the neighbouring cliff right now and never have to answer a question like this again. Eventually, you can see she is getting impatient as she starts to fiddle with the radio dial so you decide to make your answer a mixture of the first two options. Besides Nikki would never forgive you if you crashed the Mercedes…

"_Well, princess…you like helping Mummy in the garden, don't you?"_

"_Yup."_

"_Well, imagine I've got some bulbs in my tummy…and Mummy…Mummy has a plant pot in hers."_

You glance at your golden haired daughter for a moment before looking back to the road, smiling smugly at your impeccable, flawless answer.

"_Yes, but how do you actually plant them, Dad?!"_

Oh _Christ._

"_I – Well – I just…I put them through Mummy's belly button."_

Resorted to lying again. Well done, Harry.

At least you got yourself out of a potentially hair raising situation.

For a moment, she is quiet and you inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. She seems to hear it telepathically and consequently you hear her sharp intake of breath before she begins talking again. In her little lilac tutu, white t-shit and ballet shoes, she looks too angelic to be such a monster.

But she's not going to let you off the hook that easily….

…She's too like her Mother.

"_How can you do the gardening by mistake, then?"_

"_What?"_

"_I heard Mummy on the phone to Auntie Janet, she said that you didn't mean it to happen…so how can you not notice you're doing it?"_

"_Freya…"_

"_It's like me saying to Mummy, sorry Mummy I just planted some poopies by accident and now they've all come out in the garden!"_

"_They're called poppies, darling."_

"_I don't plant things that I don't want, when I help in the garden. You don't plant a flower and then say you made a mistake."_

"_I don't want you ever to tell anyone, that your new brother or sister was a mistake, okay? Not ever. And I'll explain better when you're a bit older, darling, I promise."_

"_You're rubbish."_

You don't care if that's what she thinks. All that matters is that you won't need to give the lecture on 'Baby making – Part two.' for at least another year.

* * *

"_I told her it was like gardening."_

Nikki snorts so hard she nearly sprays out her entire mouthful of Horlicks onto your lap.

"_Interesting technique…"_

"_I didn't know what to say! YOU left me in a really difficult situation!"_

"_Stop making me laugh or my waters are going to break!"_

You smile as she laughs and then suddenly, she stops, wincing she holds her back, breathing slowly. She's struggled with this one, more than she did with the others. Each one has been a risk, with their own complications and for the nine months leading up to the birth, after everything that happened with Kit, it is almost impossible for her to relax in the slightest. She's older this time too, the risks are heavily playing on her mind.

She suffers from terrible back ache and there have been times when you have been on call, when you have come in at 3.30 in the morning to find her crying with the pain and discomfort.

It's frustrating. To see her hurting and be so helpless to it all.

The only consolation is that usually, you can soothe her a little.

You sit yourself upright on the couch and hold your hands out to her to pull her to you. She sits with her back to the arm rest and her legs over your lap and leans sideways, into your chest and you hold her there; one hand rubbing her aching back, the other on her stomach. The baby is lively tonight, as per usual.

"_Is it any wonder you're so sore?"_

"_What? With your child playing rugby with my organs? Appallingly vicious, this one."_

You chuckle lightly and already, the bashing about begins to subside. You've talked about this phenomenon at great length and came to the conclusion that it is the sound of your voice that calms the baby. It's quite miraculous seeing as none of your other offspring give two hoots about what you have to say. _Maybe this one will be different…_

You carry on talking, about nothing in particular, to no one in particular, until you're sure she is asleep…or that they are both asleep. Then you simply sit for a while, holding her.

"_What's wrong with Mummy?"_

You look round to find Freya standing at the door of the lounge, looking pale and tired in a white nightdress.

"_Nothing, angel, she's just sleepy."_

"_Is the baby ready to come out?"_

"_Soon. Yes. Shouldn't you be in bed?"_

"_Yes. But I've been meaning to ask you something, Dad."_

_Oh here we go._

"_How will it come out?"_

You really need to ask Nikki to buy her a book.

"_That doesn't matter. But I can assure you it's nothing like gardening, okay? Now, bed."_


	6. Preferable to Parenting

**Now this might be a bit shit...I tried to fit a lot into it, some funny, some...not so funny!**

**This is because I'm still in 'Silent Quitness' denial (I WILL NOT believe he's gone forever. I WON'T.)**

**Enjoy guys! If I haven't said it, HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

* * *

He's on call, finishing up a post-mortem at 1.17am when he gets the call. Or rather, Leo gets it, while he's still in the cutting room.

"_Harry? That was your Mother on the phone! She at yours, says Nikki's just gone into labour, go now if you like."_

He's out the door before Leo has finished his sentence.

Half an hour later, he has broken approximately 12 speed limits and bursts through the living room door. Kit and Freya are on the couch watching tv, looking groggy and his Mother pushes herself out of the armchair to greet him.

He doesn't let her.

"_Where is she?"_

"_She's upstairs."_

The conversation comes to a close as he charges up the stairs to be at her side. He first enters their bedroom. She isn't there. So he tries the bathroom and is met with a rather unexpected sight.

Candles. Candles on every surface, creating a strange, eerie, romantic glow. An overpowering smell of lavender, some peculiar, atmospheric music – if it could be called that – and in the middle of it all, a bath, filled high with steaming water, with Nikki in it.

He is temporarily dazed by this alternative universe he has walked into, but soon continues his crusade, marching straight up to the bath tub, all guns blazing.

"_Okay, it's alright, I'm here now, now let's get you out of here…"_

He tries to take her arm but she keeps it firmly under the water and he takes the opportunity to simply look at her, brow furrowed. He is surprised. She doesn't look like she's in labour, quite the opposite in fact; this is as calm as he has seen her in the last 9 months. She doesn't open her eyes, keeping her head still against the edge of the bath, skin dewy and cheeks flushed with the heat of the water, her reply is simple.

"_No."_

He is nonplussed.

"_W-what d'you mean 'no'!? We need to get you to the hospital!"_

"_I said no, Harry."_

"_So, what? You're going to pretend this isn't happening?"_

She hushes him and he immediately quietens down despite himself.

"_I'm not going to the hospital until I need to. I'm only 2 centimetres, we'll go when I'm 8."_

"_EIGHT?!"_

"_Shhhhhh!"_

"_How the hell will you know when you're eight?"_

He is pacing now, hands running through rapidly greying hair as he despairs at his enigmatic other half. Yes, he is all for the relaxed _learn as you go _style parenting, but this is a step too far. For the sake of the health and sanity of everyone involved, situations like this have to be handled with military precision and an element of panic. Especially after…_everything_. Everything that has happened to them in the past_. _

"_Well we both have medical degrees. I'm sure we can figure it out between us."_

For a moment, he is silent again and he remembers the other din in the room before he started barking orders.

"_What on earth is this you're listening to?"_

"_It's a meditation cd, it relaxes me."_

"_Nikki, this is ridiculous."_

"_No it's not. I'm giving birth in a calm and serene environment. Don't you want what's best for our baby?"_

"_What are you talking about?"_

"_Babies born into a stressful environment are 10 times more likely to suffer from stress later in life, did you know that? And the pain of labour is only a frame of mind…"_

"_Oh for Christ's sake, what shit have you been reading now?"_

She peers out between eyelids and nods behind him to the washing basket, on top of which sits a pile of magazines. Diligently, he goes to them, picking one up and rolling his eyes when he reads the cover; _The Twenty-First Century Mother. _The cover shows a woman – obviously off her face on something – wearing some sort of poncho, and a small baby that doesn't appear to be disgruntled in the slightest…obviously not a real one.

He'd put it down to boredom at first, her newfound fascination for whimsical and alternative birth methods. Too long sitting about in the house with nothing to do, he'd thought, she'll go back to normal when she has something else to occupy her mind…like labour perhaps. How wrong he was…

It would seem his opinions couldn't matter less to her. He is a great believer in science, medication, pain relief. It exists because the other stuff is a load of idiosyncratic rubbish. She should agree with that.

"_You know how I feel about this stuff…"_

"_Harry, when you're the one squeezing a life form out from your genitals, I will let you decide on your own methods. Now please get out or shut up and put some more hot in."_

He stands, staring at her for a moment, at a loss of what to say. As he does so, she softly holds the sides of the bath and her breathing deepens, after a few moments it evens out again and she is peaceful again, eyes delicately shut. To him, she is an utter enigma. How can a woman, so consumed, so passionate about science and the human body, so in tune with logic and reason, so _intelligent _seriously believe any of that crap? But as he looks at her, he even begins to doubt himself. She is dealing with things extraordinarily well…

"_Was that a contraction?"_

For the first time since he entered the bathroom, she opens both eyes wide and gives him a disbelieving look. She rolls her eyes at him.

"_No darling, just a bit of wind."_

Her sarcasm successfully pushes his buttons and he can feel himself slowly losing his temper. Yes, this was a stressful situation, yes, tempers tend to fray, but this isn't the time to get in a fight. After a long pause of blatant, silent rage, he breathes out deeply and gives her a sweet smile before turning and taking a seat at the side of the bath and turning on the hot tap.

"_Okay, Nikki. We'll have this your way."_

He lets it run for a minute or two, before turning it off firmly and kissing her bare shoulder. She gives a weak smile.

"_You need to learn to trust me, Dr H."_

"_Easier said than done, especially when you're acting like an old hippie."_

They share a laugh and he watches her close her eyes and settle back down. He runs a hand over her damp hair.

"_Just give me a shout if you need anything."_

* * *

Outside the bathroom he finds his Mother, lurking in the hallway, pretending to innocently dust the lampshade.

"_What's happening?"_

"_She's alright. She's just going to stay in the bath for a while."_

"_And…and you're okay with that?"_

"_Mum. I'm absolutely freaking out. But what can I do? She seems to know what she's doing. Trying to reason with Nikki when she's got an idea in her head is like trying to play chess with a lion."_

"_I can still hear you!"_

They both look towards the bathroom door at the sound of her voice and he suddenly feels a small, hesitant hand in his own. He doesn't even need to look down to know who it is.

"_Daddy, I need a wee…"_

"_You'll have to use downstairs , mate, Mum needs some peace and quiet, come on I'll take you."_

He takes his smallest son firmly by the hand and begins the decent downstairs. He can sense there is something unspoken between himself and the three year old and before he has a chance to question him, Oliver speaks.

"_Will I not matter now?"_

His heart almost breaks for his son. Throughout the entire escapade of the last 9 months he has been extremely quiet, while his siblings had detailed questions and curiosities, Oliver Cunningham had stayed silent, supposedly paying very little attention. His parents had assumed that he was too young to understand, too young to worry, too young to care. The truth was, he heard _everything._ He listened and watched and understood and despite is few years on the planet, he would lie awake at night and wonder if, when this new person arrived, life would ever be the same again.

A part of the small boy's heart jumps into his throat as his father stops dead and sinks down, to his level, on the stairs. Until he softly pulls him into his arms and tucks his head under his chin. Harry holds him tight and eventually feels him relax as he relaxed onto his knee and bunches up his shirt in his tiny hands.

"_You will never not matter to us. To me. Never."_

As he sits, with his youngest child in his arms, Harry's Mother quietly passes on the stairs and they share a look. In that look they both know how much this little boy means to them all.

* * *

Never had those two words been spoken or heard between them with such euphoria.

"_I'm late."_

They grin madly at each other before galloping upstairs. Breathlessly, as she picks out one of many waiting tests, he asks _how late?_

"_About a week, I didn't want to speak too soon!"_

"_Yes! This is it! I know it!"_

She emerges from the en-suite after a few minutes and, small white stick in hand, she sits on the bed next to him, firmly grasping his knee.

For a minute or so, they both sit in silence, though the grins never fade from their faces. Though the smile slowly fades from his when he realises that without ovulation calendars and pregnancy tests and fertility aids, he has _no idea _what to say to her…

"…'_Bout bloody time, eh?"_

He manages and she nods slowly.

"_It's taking a while, though."_

"_Two minutes, it says, just calm down and give it two minutes."_

"_I am calm."_

Suddenly the smiles are gone and she's looking at him in a way he can't quite decipher. It's like a mixture of anger and frustration and just utter hatred. He frowns at her, a silent question.

_What's happened to us?_

Telepathically, she doesn't have time to answer as she has looked down and all hope is shattered.

"_Negative."_

"_Negative?"_

"_That's what it says."_

She stands suddenly and walks across the room, hurriedly throwing the test into the waste paper bin on her way. Another let down. He claps his hands down on his thighs and exhales.

"_Right. Okay. Never mind then."_

"_For god's sake stop acting like you don't care."_

"_Of course I care! Maybe if you'd stop getting yourself in such a state – "_

He stops dead in his tracks, but it's too late. She's welling up.

"_You're saying this is my fault?"_

Her eyes look so inexplicably sad, for a moment, he loses all bearings.

"_Look, just, don't get yourself so upset, it's not worth it!"_

"_You wanted this. You wanted this so badly. And I can't give you it."_

He's not seen her look so utterly devastated in a very long time. It makes him wish he could go back, go right back and _not _visit Janet to congratulate her on her new adoption. _Or _at least not hold the child. _Or _just not have asked her what she was thinking on the way home. Every month since he has watched her smile fade that little bit further.

"_So what, you think I'll just leave you because we can't have more kids? You're being ridiculous and you know it. I don't care, Nikki, okay? All I care about is you, and Kit and Freya and that you're all happy."_

She gives up at this and with a disheartened (or relieved) sob, she falls into his arms. He kisses the top of her head and soothes her, rocking her gently in his arms. Slowly, he feels all of the pressure of the last 6 months drain away, and feels slightly deflated himself when he realises he was the cause of most of it.

"_No more planning, okay? No more planning, no more rules, no more worrying. We'll just see what happens, yes?"_

She nods into his chest and he smiles.

* * *

And less than a year later, there he was.

"_Don't you ever think that you don't matter, okay?"_

Just at that there is a strangled yell from the upstairs bathroom. Its urgency steadily increases.

"_Harry. We need to go. NOW."_

_So much for not panicking_, he thinks to himself, before standing and taking a moment to sort his head out, he's never been very good at multi-tasking.

"_Right…uh…Mum? Can you get Ollie to the bathroom and I'll go and get Ni – "_

"_It doesn't matter Daddy." _Pipes up the little voice below him.

"_What do you mean it doesn't matter?"_

"_I just did it."_

"_What do you mean you just – "_

He only just has the brainpower when he is this fatigued to register what his son is saying to him and his orders change slightly.

"_Mum? Can you get Ollie a fresh pair of pyjama bottoms and I'll go upstairs and whack my head off something solid."_

"_Why, darling?"_

"_Well it would be preferable to parenting at this moment in time, let me tell you."_


	7. Sleep

**Hi again! Just me and another attempt to be funny!**

**I'd like to dedicate this chapter to owls-eat-waffles and all my other reviewers (I hope by now I've personally thanked you all!) for filling me with such confidence...may you never go a night without sleep!**

* * *

She was born on the Monday.

You had brought her home on the Wednesday.

It is now Sunday.

She hasn't stopped crying _once._

It's almost like a bizarre nightmare. One moment, your family was fine, perfect almost, yes, your wife was a bit misshapen, but everything was fine. The next thing you know your children are dragging their knuckles around the house, too tired even for backchat, you haven't shaved in what feels like weeks and you've threatened to leave your wife several times. She knows it's the fatigue talking, so do you, but that isn't the point. You've never been wound up so far as to want to say something like_ that_ before…

There have been several occasions where you and she have shared a look, as if to silently ask one another, _are we too old for this?_

See, you hadn't thought so. You feel now just as you had in your twenties, your thirties. Or so you had thought…

Before Hannah.

_Hannah Jane Cunningham._

Or as she is affectionately known, _Lucifer._

Now you find yourself taking frequent baths to sooth your aching joints. You think twice before lifting something heavy. There is a new grey hair each day, and sometimes you wonder if Kit is still too young to choose you a nursing home. On the odd occasion that she has stilled long enough for you to just _look _at her, you stare down into her tiny, angelic, peach tinted face, framed by fine golden wisps, and wonder how something so small could destroy you so completely.

Its only two weeks – though it feels like two _years_ - before you go back to work. Leo greets you warmly and his happiness grates on you.

"_How's the little one?"_

"_Put it this way, I'm glad to be back at work for a break."_

Blissfully ignorant, Leo simply laughs. But you go home that evening to find Nikki crying almost as hard as your daughter. The children are sitting on the stairs, their once youthful skin is mottled. Freya is the only one to speak.

"_Daddy, can we take this baby back and get a different one?"_

You really must get round to having that 'origins of babies' talk with her…perhaps when you've had enough sleep to remember _yourself_.

Once you've finally ushered them upstairs, you and Nikki peer – with trepidation – into the moses basket on the table. She's still small, still red, still screaming the place down.

"_God."_

You state. To no one in particular.

"_What on Earth has happened in your extremely short life to make you this unhappy?"_

* * *

You are _all _at your wits end.

So you take her to the one person in life your entire family look up to.

You take her to Leo.

He tells you there is nothing physically wrong with her and that it is her _parents _that look like they are about to drop dead. He suggests you give her travel medicine and when you both screw up your faces, he insists that it will help her sleep, perhaps help her get into some sort of pattern.

You need not question him further.

And so you get home and do as Leo says.

…She is asleep in _minutes_.

And you all rejoice. Not just for the silence, but for the glimmer of hope this brings. She has finally learned how to sleep and so you can now start to build a routine into her little life. Finally the difference between '_Sleep time' and ' Awake time'_ can be established_._

_Perhaps you will all survive after all._

This newfound freedom is so overwhelming you barely notice when the children drop into deep much needed sleep one by one. So wrapped up in thoughts of how you and your wife could spend your evening, you barely register what's happening. But you find yourself spread eagled next to her, fully clothed above the duvet of your bed. She appears to be in some sort of fatigue induced coma, and you can barely keep your eyes open. Your conversation is a series of half asleep grunts as you both lie there, paralysed.

"_What do you want to do tonight?..."_

"_Hmmmh?"_

"_Do you want to have sex?"_

"_What's that?"_

"_Dunno. But I think we used to do it."_

"_Mhhmmm, no…"_

"_Good. Neither do I."_


	8. Movies and screaming matches

**Hi y'all again!**

**Here's another one of Nikki and Harry being all..._family..._think I just invented a new adjective...oh well. For this one, you have to transport yourselves back a few week, and get all festive!**

**If these are getting tedious and boring and repetitive please let me know (though maybe in a nice and sensitive way?) because I am in such denial about 'Silent Quitness' I could actually go on with these forever!**

**I do have another big fic like Elintézetlen in the pipeline. But its hopefully going to have a case and stuff in it too and I'm a bit stuck (so if anyone has any experience of writing crime, I would LOVE a few tips! Seriously! **

**Much love to you all!**

* * *

You come in, fiddling vigorously with your keys to escape the cold, to an almost laughable stereotype of Christmas eve. There's the ghastly smell of mince pies, tinsel wound round the banisters, the air is warm and spicy, and it's quiet.

_Too _quiet.

It has only just gone seven and at first you wonder if you've gone into the wrong house.

Then you follow the smell of mince pies to the kitchen and find your wife, looking weary, tidying up.

"_You alright?"_

She looks up as if she hadn't heard you come in and instantly lights up, like she hasn't seen you in months.

"_Hiya!"_

"_Take it they're excited?"_

She rolls her eyes at this, as if on cue, picking up some remnants of what you presume was tinsel from the floor and wiping it into the bin.

"_Understatement of the month. They've been bouncing off the walls since you left this morning."_

You laugh and begin taking off your jacket and blazer, hanging them on the back of a dining chair and you place your briefcase on the table. Nikki gives you a smile and gets back to setting out some plates and wiping down the kitchen surfaces. It still seems odd, you muse, that the two of you could ever be so…_at ease_ around each other. It only seems like the other day, any time apart, be it a day or an hour, would conclude with a dramatic embrace between the two of you. On the odd occasion you have to remind yourself that you married the _ideal_. Your best friend. True, some of the intensity has gone, but it's been replaced by something infinitely more romantic. If one can see daily routine as romantic.

"_Why is there no noise, Nik?"_

She doesn't turn around, but you know she's smiling.

"_Writing to Santa. Then we're putting out the mince pies for him."_

You cringe.

"_Oh god. You know I hate mince pies! Please don't make it one from of each of them again this year!"_

She looks at you over her shoulder, winking.

"_Hope you're hungry!"_

A comfortable silence descends and you decide to help. You roll up your sleeves and put on the oven gloves and say a silent prayer before opening the oven. _Honestly. The things you do for her. _Wrinkling your nose, you place the tray down on the counter.

"_God I hate these."_

As you remove the gloves, you can sense her eyes on you and you turn to find her watching you warmly, fondly, as if she could never tire of you.

"_What?"_

"_Kiss me."_

You don't hesitate, leaning over momentarily to drop a quick kiss to her waiting lips. As you pull away she keeps a gentle hold on the collar of your shirt.

"_Kiss me properly."_

So you lean in again, but this time, you pull her to you, hands on her hips as her own hands meander from your neck to your hair, making you shiver. You open her mouth with your own and as you deepen the kiss, you hear her sharp intake of breath and the passion rises, you pull her against you.

Then there is an ear-splitting shriek from the doorway.

"_WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"_

You both spring apart, turning to find your seven year old daughter watching you in open mouthed horror.

"_What's wrong, darling?"_

But it's too late, she's gone, running off, screaming. You immediately pursue her, leaving a confused and slightly embarrassed Nikki and chaos in your wake as you trip and stumble up the stairs – partly to calm her down before she wakes the baby and partly because you have no bloody idea what just happened.

"_Freya!"_

You are more than a little bit angry, dazed and confused when you find her in her room, curled up in the corner, hiding.

"_What on earth is the matter with you?"_

"_What were you doing!?"_

She tends to overreact, especially since the little one was born. You have no idea where her overly dramatic side came from…it's not like _you're_ known for blowing situations well out of proportion…

You know she feels abandoned sometimes, especially by you when you're working on a particularly complex case and when you get in there's barely time to kiss her goodnight. These days Nikki barely has a moment to catch breath, never mind dote on her eldest daughter. You assumed it was a phase, that she would settle down when she realised that you didn't love her any less…now you're not so sure.

"_We were kissing, Freya."_

"_But you were eating Mum's face off!"_

"_Don't be silly, you know that's how grown-ups that love each other kiss, you've seen it in movies."_

"_But we're not in movies."_

Possibly the most down to earth little girl the world has ever known.

"_I-I know…but sometimes we…like to pretend to be…?"_

Have you just made a psychological breakthrough? Perhaps not…but with any luck, she'll fall for it.

"_So…is that how you make a baby, then?"_

For ease, you almost answer yes…but then stop yourself upon the realisation that if she goes into school next term and tells her teacher that she watched mum and dad making babies, social services would probably have something to say…

"_No, sweetheart. No its not."_

"_What in blazes is all the noise about?"_

Oliver stomps into the room, hands on hips doing such a good impression of his Mother you almost laugh. Freya explains to him the situation.

"_Mum and Dad were doing strange things with their tongues in the kitchen!"_

Exasperated, you attempt in vain to stick up for yourself.

"_It was a kiss! I hadn't seen her ALL day! It was a kiss!"_

"_I've kissed boys at school and we don't do it like that!"_

"_Yes, I know, and that's because…wait a minute…what boys have you been kissing?"_

"_Hannah's woken up."_

You turn to find Kit in the doorway, watching the three of you.

"_I just saw – "_

You clam a hand over your daughters mouth before she has a chance to spread anymore gossip about you.

"_-kissing in the kitchen, I heard you. So?"_

Kit's slight lack of excitement for Christmas this year comes with an acute sadness for you. He's almost nine, your first baby is almost nine and starting to speculate about Santa, you don't souse his school friends have helped much. You have attempted to keep his faith as much as possible, as much for the sake of his younger siblings that his own. If they were to hear the dreadful news you could have world war three on your hands.

"_See." _You smile at the other two smugly. _"Kit doesn't have a problem with it, do you Kit-Kat?"_

He frowns at you for a moment.

"_Well, it's better than listening to one of your weekly screaming matches for starters."_

Then he's gone off downstairs. You think you've won this battle, but you can't help feeling deflated. You didn't think he'd heard any of _those._

For a moment Freya is silent, and you stay, kneeling beside her, eyes tightly closed, hoping, praying for no more awkward questions.

"_Can I post my Santa letter now?"_

You've never been more enthusiastic about it in your life.


	9. No more shouting

**From Kit's point of view. Just for a change! x**

* * *

It would always start the same. Stupid and silly. A bit like the girls in your year in the playground.

"_Don't be so silly!" _Mrs Hopkins would say, _"Just make up and be friends again."_

But this was a little bit different.

Because it started out a bit silly.

But by later on it was actually a bit _scary_.

Dad would usually come in right at tea time, so you'd be sitting at the table. Mum is always home earlier because she picks up Hannah and Oliver from nursery. You _love _Mum, but some days they swap round and its Dad that meets you outside after school and those days are your favourites.

The minute he comes in, you know they've already had a problem today. He doesn't kiss her, for a start, and he _always_ kisses her. He just says _"Hi guys." _ And then he gives you all a cheery smile and sits down with you.

Mum slams tea down in front of you and you are a bit confused about that because _you_ definitely didn't have an argument with her.

Then she sits down and even feeds _Hannah _angrily.

Nobody speaks and it's horrible because all you can hear is the occasional chink of cutlery and a few crunches now and then.

When you do catch a glimpse of Mum, she is frowning, her mouth is downturned and her lips are a little bit pouty.

Dad will always try and brighten things up. He'll say something like, _"Would you guys like to go swimming tonight?" _and there is a chorus of _yeses. _You don't join in though, because you see the look that Mum gives him, like she would murder him then and there if you all weren't in the room, and then bury him in the garden. You don't want her to be angry at you too – _or for her to bury you in the garden._

Dad always motions to Hannah, his arms stretched out to her in her high-chair and she raises her arms to the side, for him to pick her up. He asks Mum if he should take her too. She doesn't speak, usually up and facing the other way by now, and so you just see her shake her head silently.

So he leaves her where she is and turns to herd you out of the door. When she realises he's rejected her, Hannah starts to wail loudly and you will turn back and mouth _"Sorry."_ to your devastated little sister on your way from the kitchen.

Dad straps Oliver into his seat in the back of the car and puts your towels in the boot in silence. He gets in and starts the car and you always have to ask, sick with worry.

"_Dad?"_

"_Mhmm."_

"_We are coming back, aren't we?"_

He smiles and gives a little laugh then.

"_Of course we're coming back."_

He so funny and he's so much fun that usually it's not long before your enjoying yourself so much you forget about home and arguments. He makes up games and throws you all about and makes funny faces under the water and you all laugh so much your stomachs hurt. _This _time, Oliver gets so over excited, he is actually sick in the changing rooms afterwards.

But then, as he's blow-drying and combing your hair once you're dressed again, you can't help but feel a little bit sad.

You get back home and tonight, like the other times, he says goodnight to you in the hallway.

"_Okay, school night, off you go upstairs and get pjs on and into bed okay? Try not to wake Han."_

Oliver bounds up the stairs, but you and Freya linger until he has disappeared into the kitchen, and then you wait some more. It's a good spot to spy, on the stairs. The railing is big and wooden and chunky so it's difficult to see through it from a distance due to the shadows. But from the stairs you can see out, though you can't be seen from the kitchen. You can hear from there, too. A little muffled but you can hear them.

"_You know something? You really need to start differentiating between personal and professional."_

"_Of course, Harry, you're right. How silly of me to think my husband would have my ba –"_

"_So I'm not allowed to have my own opinion now, is that it?"_

Freya, grips your hand and tugs it slightly and together, you both start to climb the stairs, slowly, still listening.

"_How can you not see that what you're saying is complete bullshit?!"_

"_Did you read the tox report at all? Did you look at her notes? She had cancer of the lung, Harry. She wasn't drugged, she was making anti-bodies to insulin receptors! I've seen it before!"_

"_And of course Nikki is always right. There couldn't possibly be any other explana –"_

Their voices fade out to muffled vibrations through the floorboards when you close your bedroom door behind you. You've only just managed to change into your jammies when you hear them again, louder this time, and you can't help shaking a little.

"_THAT'S RIGHT NIKKI! I'D PREFER TO SIDE WITH DI BRIGGS BECAUSE SHE IS ATTRACTIVE AND SLIGHTLY YOUNGER THAN YOU. NOTHING TO DO WITH THE EVIDNECE AT ALL. JESUS CHRIST."_

You push open your bedroom door, as quietly as you can, and peer round for any monsters that may be lurking in the hallway. There are two. But they turn out to be just your siblings; standing outside their bedrooms. They look how you feel…like they want to cry. Together, wordlessly, the three of you journey to the landing and settle down on a step a few down from the top. Freya is holding Oliver's hand tightly as you peer through the bannisters. It sounds as if they are in the living room.

"_It could be deliberate. It could be poison. But do you see that? No, because once you get something into your head, Nikki, so help anyone who disagrees."_

"_IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR A BIT OF SUPPORT ONCE IN A WHILE?!"_

"_WHEN WE'RE WORKING PROFESSIONALLY ON A CASE,YES!"_

"_I'LL JUST REMIND YOU OF THAT, THE NEXT TIME YOU THROW A STROP WHEN I REFUSE TO BACK YOU UP!"_

"_FOR CHRIST SAKE, WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAVE TO BOIL BACK DOWN TO YOUR INSECURITIES!"_

You don't have time to warn everyone before you see Mum storm through the kitchen door, pulling her jacket on. Just as she grabs Dad's keys from the table in the hallway, she looks up, and she sees you.

She freezes then, and for a moment you wince, thinking she's going to shout at you for being out of bed. But she doesn't. Instead she just stares, as if in shock, open mouthed, wide eyed, as if she'd forgotten she had you. The flush fades from her face and her clenched fists softened.

"_YOU KNOW WHAT, NIKKI. I AM SICK AND TIRED OF –"_

"_Harry…"_

He comes through the door in the same fashion as she had, and stops in his tracks when he sees her. Eventually, he follows her eyes and they land on you, Freya and Oliver. For a while they both just stand and look at the three of you, white as ghosts in your nightwear, tears shining in your eyes and all the fears that go with it. There is no more shouting.

* * *

"_It's hard to explain. When you get older…Daddy and I spend all of our time together almost. We work together, we live together. And then we have lots to worry about too. We have to make sure you guys are okay and the house is fine and that we have food and heating and…"_

Now you're all snuggled up on the couch under a blanket with Mum and Dad is up in the kitchen making hot chocolates.

"…_when we get worried and angry, we take it out on each other."_

You're all still a bit wet around the eyes, but Mum has her arms around you all and she's holding you so firmly that it seems to make all the bad things go away again, a bit like when you were swimming with Dad.

"_So you don't hate each other?"_

Dad comes down and lays out the mugs on the coffee table before sitting down beside Mum and pulling Oliver onto his knee and tucking them under the blanket, he laughs as he does so.

"_We shout at each other, but it doesn't mean we love each other any less."_

You give a small, secret sigh of relief when you see him reach under the blanket for her hand.

"_You guys fight all the time, and you guys do much worse!" _He catches your eye over the sea of bodies and you share a mischievous smile. _"You punch each other…" _He gently pushes his fist against Oliver's chin and he gives a small "_oof"_ on contact. _"You push and pull each other around…" _And he grabs hold of Freya's pyjama top and tugs her about until she laughs. _"I think once…you even tried to strangle each other!" _And he leans over Mum and closes his hands around your neck until you're chocking with hysterics again. Soon enough you're all laughing and everything is forgotten. Even _Mum_ is laughing.

"…_and it doesn't mean anything, does it? You all have forgotten about it by the next day. So, everyone happy?"_

Content and relaxed. The three of you nod.

"_And how about you?"_

He reaches up and runs a finger along Mum's jaw and she smiles at him. You wonder if he'll apologise to her when you've all gone to bed. Maybe he'll buy her some flowers tomorrow. Or you all might go to Nana's for the night at the weekend and he'll take he to a big fancy restaurant like they do in films. Or maybe he'll just hold her a little tighter than he usually does.

"_Now are we ready for bed?"_

"_Dad?"_

Freya gets there first, you and Oliver look at each other, you already know what she's going to ask.

You think Dad does too…

"…_We'll only go to bed…"_ you watch the playful smirk appear on her face _"…if you do 'the donkey'…"_

You all plead while he silently rolls his eyes. Even Mum joins in.

"_Oh dear god…"_

* * *

**I'll leave it for you to decide what 'the donkey' is. But I will tell you I use to make my Dad pretend to be a horse and go around on his hands and knees with me on his back for the majority of my childhood…**

**This was a little follow on from the 'screaming match' mentioned in the last chapter, and I wanted to have a chapter in which Harry was just an **_**amazing **_**Dad. I apologise for including an argument, but let's be honest here, I'm going for accuracy, and they **_**would not **_**be Nikki and Harry if they didn't fight like god knows what, and to make it up to you…**

**YES. THAT WAS A BIT OF KIT SHIPPING HIS OWN PARENTS!**


	10. Dragon's Den

**I'm working on more **_**'Slip'**_**. But we all need some cheering up right now! Please let me know what you guys think and sorry it's taken so long!**

* * *

"_Right. Ready?"_

"_Ready."_

"_Where did you meet each other?"_

With a small smile on her face, she looks to him to answer on their behalf. He obliges.

"_At work. I already worked with Uncle Leo and one day Mum came in to use some of our equipment."_

He hasn't really told them what this is all in aid of. All they know is it's something to do with school and a project on_ family_. And that he needed them both to help.

So here they sit, side by side, slightly nervous. It wouldn't be quite so intimidating if it was just their eldest son. But the other ones had caught wind of the occasion and were now all sitting across the kitchen table from their parents, preparing note pads and recording devices. It was suspiciously like being on an episode of dragon's den…

"_Hey, did I say you could use my ipad?"_

"_He asks the questions, Dad."_

With the sharp comeback from his youngest son, Harry is silenced. Nikki leans in and whispers to him.

"_This is unnervingly like a job interview."_

"_And what would you know about those?"_

"_Eh?"_

"_Well, you just swan in and steal other people's desks don't you?"_

The last comment earns him a painful jab in the ribs.

"_Okay, next question."_

At this, they sit up to attention, trying to look interested and insightful rather than intimidated. And failing miserably.

"_How old were you?"_

She answers this time.

"_I was twenty-eight and Dad was…thirty…three?"_

He nods in agreement and as they start writing and the kitchen descends into silence he leans in and whispers in her ear.

"_You do realise that 99.9% of his school friends' parents are about the age now that we were when we met?"_

She gives him a withering look, before shifting her attention back to her son.

"_And how long from then until you got together? A year?"_

He watches as his wife's smile broadens at this, in fact her smile is so broad she looks as if she may laugh.

"_Try eight."_

"_EIGHT YEARS!?"_

All four children chant in disbelieving unison. Well, apart from the littlest one. She just screams and flaps her arms before throwing the remainder of her yoghurt onto the floor from the highchair. Harry looks hurt, insulted almost.

"_What's wrong with that?!"_

However, it would seem on this occasion he is completely outnumbered. He shouldn't have even bothered arguing.

"_It's way too long, that's what's wrong with it!"_

"_I was courting you!"_

"_That's not courtship Harry, that's just cowardice! And if I remember correctly, it was me that made the first move eventually anyway!"_

The Cunningham children look on, bemused.

"_What do you mean, Mum?"_

"_I mean if I'd left it up to your father, none of you would exist!"_

Harry slumps down in his chair, obviously losing the argument. Nikki seems to notice this and takes pity on him. A rare occurrence. Affectionately, she brushes a hand through his hair and he pretends to huff, pouting. The children laugh. It's an infrequent occasion in the Cunningham household, an afternoon like this. Simultaneously, everyone is in a good mood; from the oldest member (approaching his fifties) right down to the very smallest one (who is barely 6 months old). Everyone is together. There are no arguments, no tantrums. Everyone is laughing and joking and enjoying time spent together. In fact, it was going so well that anyone looking into the unit at this exact moment may have contracted diabetes, purely from the sweetness of it all. Nikki even sticks up for him, eventually. Yes. Very rare indeed.

"_Dad and I were friends first. Best friends. It was nice to stay like that for a while."_

"_So…Dad, did you love Mum ALL those eight years?"_

They are all captivated by his pending answer to this question. Even Hannah is silent. Nikki turns to face him slowly, a twisted smile on her face, eyebrows raised.

"_I…I…Well, I…What - what's the next question?"_

"_What did you love about her?"_

"_That's not on the sheet, Kit!"_

"_I just want to know."_

Silence descends again and he is acutely aware that his entire tribe are watching him, listening intently. _To him_. He really should make the most of moments like these. Somehow it doesn't seem fair. This afternoon has gone from '_help with homework time_' to '_Let's all intimidate Dad time'_.

"_Uhh…"_

"_You don't know what attracted you to me!?"_

He turns to find his wife; eyebrows raised, looking surprised and just a little bit menacing. She scrutinises him as he rapidly thinks of something to say, anything. _Think Harry, think!_

"_Of course I do, darling. There are just so many reasons I couldn't possibly just pick one!"_

Nikki, content with his answer smiles and turns back to her children. The perfection of his answer is lost on the interviewers and they write down his answer, word for word. He relaxes slightly again and she mouths _'Right answer' _to him and he can't help but laugh.

"_When did you decide to have your first baby?"_

The answer to this question is unanimous. Spoken in unison.

"_NEXT QUESTION PLEASE."_

"_But you haven't answered this one!"_

She regards her children across the table. Not for the first time in her career as a parent, they have rendered her speechless. Open mouthed and lost for words she turns to him again, for some sort of moral support. He looks just as panicked as she feels. Thankfully – due to having the same mentality as all four of them – he escapes the situation flawlessly.

"_That's an interview question for when you're older. That's enough homework, now who wants a movie?"_


End file.
